


The Product & The Seventh

by JeanRainier



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Choking, Dominance, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Sex, S&M, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanRainier/pseuds/JeanRainier
Summary: A one-shot self indulgent porn set on a kink club with a high risk violent sub room. Picking up after the sub on offer has already been taken, the seventh to approach starts a scene of utter control and skillful domination of the defiant submissive. Can be read as dubcon or noncon, with limited details for mental insert on the dom/sub identities.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17
Collections: Product & 7th Demonverse





	The Product & The Seventh

The break came somewhere between the fourth and fifth round.

When one left, two more were sure to take their place, eager and throbbing hot.

The heat was beyond him, something only the patrons seemed aware of and able to enjoy.

He felt the pressure, though. The intense sensation of something too big, pressing and forcing its way inside. The sharper sting of something tearing had long since faded out of his active awareness. It was still there, burning and hissing through his nerves at every rake in and out, but it seemed detached. A part of the busy background, lost in waves of skin and slick fluid that had long since stopped being just splattered lube and wet mouths and now was more a muddied pink of blood and cum.

Something felt like it was tilting.

He tried to twitch, to shift to correct it before falling. 

Hands bound behind his back with handcuffs could only offer weak flinches that did nothing but reopen the variety of strained skin breaks there, new pinprick lines of blood bubbling and smearing in all the movement. Twisting around on the floor wasn’t an option either, with hips pinned down by a greater force, two hands digging in with bruising ferocity. Legs spread, knees scraping the floor for so long and rough reddened skin was splitting, tearing. Fraying up in burnt drags that bled into the grey stone flooring. The only sense of almost-balance came from hands at the throat, propping him up from falling face down into the wet floor. They squeezed as hips rocked forward, crushing his throat around the intrusive cock for better friction. Reducing what was a human being’s body into nothing more than convenience. Holes and motions to make it better, provide more tension and heated pressure.

Somewhere far, far away music pulsed in bass rhythm. 

People chattered and laughed, milling about with alcohol in hand and clothes more and more forgotten as the night went on. Service, tonight, was free. A complementary accent to the party no different than the food and liquor set out elsewhere. The bar was open, the tables set, and likewise his body was offered the same way the tools and oddities on sidelong tables were. Ropes and chains decorated surfaces so frequently it seemed as normal as the couch, the chairs. So abundant the juxtaposition was almost lost, making the smooth modern furniture look perfectly at home next to the concrete floor and heavy installs of metal hooks around furniture and walls to facilitate leash and collar carabiners and the more durable fasteners for bigger, more complicated rigs.

After the fifth finish deep inside his ass, things felt hazy. A kind of desperate that hadn’t been there before. When the night had started, there had been a warning sign somewhere. An obligatory disclaimer that this room was not one for perfect compliance and ease. That teeth were able and eager to bite the flesh that came near. That skin would be broken on more than just his end- and that was the goal. This was one of the higher classes of services. One of the more expensive avenues for those who liked the feel of a real fight. A real struggle to indulge that carnal need to _earn_ what they wanted.

Many tried and failed before anything really happened.

Hands grouped, and subsequently fingers were broken.

They’d signed the waivers, to get back here. Agreed to this thinking it couldn’t possibly happen to them. Men leaned close and whispered vulgarity and noses were in turn broken, teeth cut, knuckles busted.

The white furniture was splattered red as intended aesthetic, and the night became a waged war between clients and himself. The first to win anything had paid for it with his own flesh and blood. Somewhere between a broken nose and busted knuckles, jeans had been clawed down before outright cut away with a knife stolen from the open table to the side. 

No handcuffs had been used, then. No rope or leather or anything but sheer, overwhelming power. Hands held down, balled fists struck when needed. Until finally a hasty rush of lube that provided more slick skin than actual internal loosening found its way into things, and all at once the choking pressure of a cock inside him was all there was to focus on.

Screaming. Cursing. Laughter and dark, guttural moans competed with the sound of the music from outside the room. Face down in the floor, pinned by hands in hair and nails in hip, he’d been ridden raw and without mercy. Before the first was even finished, another came. Taking advantage of the moment with undone pants and hands all too ready to choke, pry open, force down. Thus things had begun, and even now no end was readily in sight.

After the fifth pulled out with a dragging groan and pulled away with just enough energy to retreat to the couch to lounge, another arrived. But they, unlike most before, waited.

The sixth finished with a growling half-shout, pouring a new wave down past the back of the throat, deeper until it wasn’t a matter of swallowing but just staying loose enough to let everything push where it wanted to go. Only once the sixth client of the night peeled away with tired, satisfied whispers lost under the music and audience did the seventh finally move.

Hands in hair, pulling. Forcing the whore on offer to sit up and balance in weak trembling on raw knees. 

The energy to hold himself up was gone, and with it the ability to laugh and taunt seemed faded as well. There was an edge there, on which he balanced, and one hard push was all it would take to topple everything the night had been started with.

The patient seventh remained focused on plans.

For the first time, no one else approached to join in on what was unfolding.

They all stayed back, watching as a drunken, throbbing hard collective. 

A collar was pulled down off the table nearby after he rose. Heavy boots trailed their way around in a semi-circle before stopping, kneeling again in the mess that left dark jeans stained bloody at the knees.

Without force still holding head up by hair, the main attraction of the room was no more than a coughing, shaking mess face down against the concrete. To his credit, knees stayed bent. Ass still raised, offered. No one moved to take it. They watched the seventh’s work as he reached, entangling again a hand through hair before pulling, forcing the other up by that alone until they were almost eye-to-eye. The slick mess in hand stayed lower by a few inches, hazy eyes looking up to stare half-steady. That would have to change. Eye contact would have to be fucked out of him, sooner or later.

As it was in the moment, focus stayed precise.

“Beg for it.” Hand lifted collar, showing the flat leather and hard metal ring off as if in explanation.

Hazy blue eyes stared, blinking once, clearly understanding but not speaking. Lips shook. Fought to turn up into a weak almost-smile. Defiance still lurked somewhere under the surface.

Hand let go of hair and snapped, as a fist, into skin and bone.

His head jerked hard to the side, a noise more of surprise than anything bubbling out.

Before he could drop back to the floor, familiar force reclaimed its previous grip, pulling him back up.

“Beg for it and mean it.” Came the new, amended order. More specific.

He coughed, a fountain of careless spit and blood dripping freely to the floor around swollen lips and numb tongue.

“P.. Please..” Came the crackling voice, hoarse from cock and cum.  “G-Go fuck.. yourself.”

That weak defiance was rebuilding the longer there wasn’t active pressure to keep it down.

The sign and waivers prefacing this room had clearly not been for nothing.

Seventh didn’t scowl or lose temper.

Eyes narrowed cold and stern, and rather than losing it like those before him, he pushed a tight breath out his nose and stayed firmly in place.

There was no gentleness or consideration about it, when he did at last move.

He let go, hand grasping throat instead, twisting to turn the other over onto his back less like guidance and more like a combative throw. When the bound figure sputtered, back arched against cuffed hands beneath, Seventh moved to keep his grip at the other’s neck, squeezing.

It was a slow game, this. But people watched all the same, some stroking drunk and gradual to the sight as bare feet kicked and scraped at the floor, back arching higher and lungs seizing airlessly. Lips parted, trying to gasp but gaining nothing around the iron grip. It wasn’t until the fight eased and weakened to motionlessness that he let go. A tense second of stillness passed, then another hard crack of knuckles on cheekbone had the one in the floor stirring again with a jolt, hacking and sputtering more than breathing.

He didn’t restate the order. No need to. It was there, the authority of it still hung overhead as eyes deliriously blinked to understand time before and after the blackout. When a minute passed with no more than coughing, the iron lock tightened again. More struggling, desperate and writhing, smeared half-dried blood across the floor all the more. Feet kicked then shook, going still in the same cycle before being let go.

This time, when a harsh blow rained down on stomach instead of face, the resulting jar back into awareness came with sputtered words instead of just half-suffocated gasping.

_ “P-Please..” _

It wasn’t genuine. A plea for the sake of pleading, because that was the job to be done tonight. It wasn’t enough. He’d said to beg and mean it, not beg for show. Hand came around throat again, this time the other moving to set collar aside, seeking the largely neglected erection of the other as he choked and struggled for air that wasn’t coming. 

Stroking the desperately kicking stranger, everything was measured.

Enough pleasure to escalate but never fully crest. Enough choking to fade but never entirely dip away. It took two more rounds of combined efforts before finally around desperate and ragged inhales the words rose above a whimper, shouting with an earnest desperation.

“S-Stop! Please!  _ F-fuckplease just- _ ” choking, hacking. Thick throated pops of wet panic.

Still not enough. Still didn’t entirely mean it, not the way he should have. Not with every fiber of his being as if there were no alternative to even consider.

This time, the choking stopped. Hand stayed firm on collarbone, pressing down and keeping him flat as the other kept all too slowly moving, dragging skin against skin in precum slickened motions. The absolute want in the other was obvious- no part of his skin wasn’t in some way wet now, with blood or cum or pre of some form be it their own or another’s. Telling what was whose anymore was all but impossible.

Whimpers started to rise, hips jerking and back arching with the motions.

He knew, this was not purely for pleasure’s sake. There was some guillotine waiting to drop in every movement, and as each stroke pushed closer to the edge, the goal was more and more apparent.

Breathing raked and hissed uneven, edging closer and closer before predictably, the hand stopped. Toes curled. A whine closer to a pained growl leaked out, but before pleading could hope to articulate out of him, touch returned. Tracing featherlight patterns against raw nerves, slow but sure until the only thing he was aware of was a blinding, white-hot ache that steadily pushed all sense of pleasure out. Until there was only hurt, desperation. A carnal and instinctive frenzy that produced no words, simply a mindless and frantic sort of screaming.

It didn’t stop. It went on, and on, and on, until his voice cracked and failed entirely.

Until several of those watching finished on the sight and sound alone, some milling away only for others to take their place walking into the scene anew.

Pressure on his collarbone increased, more and more. Bruising and bending and threatening to break- a pain that was absolutely lost under the edging fire. Even when his cock twitched and hips rolled to get away, fingertips found his skin all the same, tracing patterns against his cockhead, lighting fires against his veins in gentle paths down and back up. Somewhere in it all when he could no longer move in any way to escape the feeling, the tears started.

Honest and frayed, pouring out with a desperate hurt he seemed almost surprised to have reached. The words garbled out at last with a sincerity that was undeniable.

“ _ Pleeease..  _ I’ll do anything you want- anything-  _ j-ju- _ ” words cut off, another height to the building ache, cresting but never enough. Rising just to plateau agonizingly. He screamed again, shaking all over, sobbing into the sound.

Only then did it stop.

Seventh rose the collar again.

Without having to repeat the order that felt like hours behind them, the one under his heavy pressure immediately relented, watery eyes and choking words scrambling to obey.

“ _ C-collar me, sir, please. _ ” Sputtered out, as pleading and trembling in tone as if it were a matter of life and death. Leather found way around throat, tight enough the slightest shift or pull threatened to cut off air entirely.

With it in place firmly, more was gone and gathered. Obediently, he kept still in the floor, waiting for the seventh’s return. A leash was fastened, pulled. No verbal command needed to force the other to scramble and twist, exhausted muscles shaking involuntarily into every move until he managed onto stomach and skinned knees, fighting with several failed attempts to raise shoulders and face off the floor.

As soon as he was upright partially, a hard tug on the leash sent him back down.

A new fight. A won struggle to rise again, and another tug that this time he followed with tremored movements. Crawling and crying still, the leash was in time knotted around one of the hooks from a ceiling rig, suspension cables fastened and tested. Like this, the slightest falter in the muscles through his stomach and neck meant an instantaneous choking.

Seventh circled around, cock pulled free and leaking readily. There was no denying the lust there. Rather, sheer will and focus were simply greater forces in play as he moved to kneel in front of the newly bound, weeping mess.

Again, he didn’t say a word. Again, the other complied.

Mouth opened, tongue pressed out over teeth in invitation.

He edged forward a step, cock offered but never fully. He waited with one hand around himself, and the point was realized after a few teasing moments of the other lapping eagerly at cockhead. He had to rock forward, to pull the other into his mouth- an action that pulled the collar and cable taught, choking tight and harsh.

There was a cold expectancy in Seventh’s eyes. 

An unwavering stare that suggested clearly what was being demanded.

Hesitation was short, but heavy. After a time, fearful of what would come if he denied, the bound young man forced himself forward. Choking first from collar then from cock as he pulled the other in deep, the noises loud and vulgar from the strain and efforts.

Somehow things seemed impossibly quiet despite the booming music. 

No one was talking anymore, no one rumbling about with laughter and sidelong inebriated conversation. All eyes on the scene, unwilling to intrude and interrupt what strange precision was in play. People just drank, and watched, interrupted only by the stray groan and hiss as climaxes all around were reached as if to further tease the communal plaything so far unallowed to find one.

Seventh never rose a hand to touch him as he struggled to suck the man’s pulsing cock, tears pricking anew from the choking deliriousness. The tease was built into the very mechanics, cresting the pleasure of the blowjob only to have the other have to stop, coughing and sputtering breathlessly over himself. It went on in waves, until at last when he stopped to fight for air again Seventh moved on his own to grasp his dripping length, hand working with a practiced and knowing roughness. It took barely any time at all then for his jaw to tense, muscles pulling taut and a roll of tension through stomach and further down to be the only warning before thick strings of cum fell over the younger’s face, barely anything actually aimed for his offered mouth- most trailing down over cheeks, hair, into eyes that shut as he stayed painfully tense, unable to relax after it all with the collar still pulling tight.

“Do you want to cum?” Came the first vocalization in what seemed ages.

After so long of quiet between them and the room the singular words felt impossibly loud. Spoken with the low and steady force of absolute, unwavering control.

A whimper was the first reply, strained and shaking.

The second, an even more raw and breaking, “ _ Yes, sir _ ”.

There was no ability to turn and see what was happening.

He knew only as the sensation arrived, the sounds of movement as the seventh lined up behind him, hands spreading his legs wider, uncaring how the rough movements broke skinned knees open again. Hands at his ass dug nails in before pushing open, exposing in a way that for the first time that night felt something close to truly embarrassing.

He didn’t need to make it an order to get what he wanted.

Rather, one hand slipped between legs, finding the readily twitching cock still dripping with pre as unspoken pleading for attention. Attention came- same as it had before. With rough, tight-gripped strokes that earned flinching and gasping, mewling and trembling. And as before, it didn’t stop. Never fully. It went until the peak seemed underfoot and then slowed, the pace dropping so smoothly that what was happening became absolutely undeniable.

“ _ No- please! _ ” Was the best managed begging before the white hot build of teased pleasure started, burning straight through him until he thrashed as best able, choking himself against tight collar and jerking hands against cuffs until a new wave of rings around broken skin at his wrists wept against his back.

It went on until new tears came. Until his voice broke anew into half-silent sounds of hurt, mindless panic. Long after he devolved to involuntary shaking and choked sobbing, wailing hoarse then continuing to do so soundlessly- the hand at his cock kept trailing delicate, furiously painful patterns against his darkened, swollen skin.

When it finally stopped, he almost didn’t notice right away.

His body went still, slack. Readily letting him choke against the collar keeping him up, dead weight against the cable as his aching cock continued to twitch on its own, the mess of precum over his skin and dripping to the floor nearly laughable in severity. 

No warning came. No reason to suspect through the hurting haze what was about to happen until all at once pressure filled him again in what felt like the first time in ages. He outright screamed, the peel crackling in a half-silent, half-hoarse noise. Seventh pulled out hard, hands digging nails into both sides of the other’s ass as he kept him spread. Another hard thrust forward, and the shaking started, flinching and fighting as if to get away but amounting to nothing more than writhing in place as hands shifted to keep the younger's hips precisely where he wanted.

Someone finally daring enough approached, to use the mouth torn open in breaking screams.

Seventh’s eyes lifted with a warning, deadly ferocity.

“ _ No touching. _ ” he ordered, though not to the submissive mess in hand.

The stranger flinched, froze, cock out and inches from the tempting mouth.

When his intent instead shifted to hovering in front but not pushing inside, Seventh’s attention left them. Back to railing into the hot, torn hole in his grasp, uncaring of the stranger losing themselves to the sight before them. Tearstreaked face and parted lips, screaming and crying with a scattered and mindless hurt. Seventh was still pumping in and out of the smaller by the time the interrupting stranger finished, growling out a tight noise as a new wave of cum came to paint the half-aware product’s face.

The stranger peeled away from the scene, and no one brave enough came to take his place.

Seventh never slowed, even when his hips stopped. Hands picked up the slack of the movement, jerking the other back onto his cock and pushing away again as if no more than a toy to be carelessly used as he saw fit.

Somewhere in the spiraling mess of more pain than pleasure, his hand reached around, grasping tight and hot. The body under him mewled and squirmed but didn’t protest, forced to endure instead the attention that felt all too much on sensitive skin.

“Not without permission.” Was all he growled, one more squeeze offered before he drew the other back onto his cock again, pushing and pulling with renewed force.  
Too choked to speak, acknowledgement came as a simple whine and nod as the harsh fucking continued.

Things hazily blurred together.

Pain became pleasure became pain became pleasure.

Where his skin ended and the thick air began couldn’t be told.

Where the seventh’s cock pulled away, there was an emptiness. A wrongness only righted by the inevitable force back inside, pushing and filling with a pressure that nearly made him sick.

“ _ Pl- se- _ ” crackled out, never entirely full, not around the given out rawness of his throat.

Begging for a release that seemed more promise than possible. Something to pine for but never actually obtain. He’d resigned to that, pleading sheerly for the sake of the pressure that was threatening to tear him in half as the seventh continued.

“Shut up.” Eventually rose in response to the chirped crackling attempts.

The pleading stopped.

Seventh finished a second time with a tight, hissing sound like a feral animal tearing into prey.

He sank so deep every pulse of cum felt like too much, pushing insides fuller than they ever meant to go. In his hands the smaller whimpered, writhing in slow, weak motions against the tight pain.

At last, it seemed over.

The seventh pulled out, the audible sound of cum pressed out after him enough for others in the room to finish as well. As hands left bruised and clawed open skin, muscles gave out entirely. While Seventh stood and circled around the object of the room’s attention, he went slack, choking to a point of near blacking out against the collar, body exhausted.

Seventh paced around. Winding hand through hair and lifting. Forcing the other up, where the only energy left was put to coughing, gasping in a way that rattled the throat all wrong.

Cold eyes stared down, watching.

When the other failed to look up, instead staring with a drained vacancy at the seventh’s waist, a decision was at last made.

“Good boy.” The praise was low but offered all the same, hand in hair pulling up further. One boot scraped forward a step, stopping in the space between cut and bruised legs.

“Cum.” 

A singular order. 

A new wave of desperate shaking came over the smaller, frantic and wanting to finally release but twitching, unable. The boot between legs moved, toe tip nudging with a careless force. That attention alone seemed pathetically enough at last, pressure mounting and finally boiling over. 

The noise was meek and breathless, practically no more than hoarse squeaking as eyes glazed over with orgasm. The seventh watched, expression cold, tracing the path drool and cum took out of the other, finding their way inevitably to the floor. No complaint rose for the now filthy state of his boot. Rather, once the other was finished hands moved to unclip the fastened collar. He kept tight grip of the leash, lowering the other slow to the floor where their face pressed into the tip of his boot as he moved it to their mouth. The implication failed to need verbalization. Numb tongue pressed out, lapping. Cleaning the mess away until there was nothing more left but the feint sound of leash unclipping. The collar stayed.

The seventh moved smoothly to tuck himself away finally, pants zipped up and the only proof of the encounter the soaked in mess at the knees of his jeans. He strode over and took seat in a chair off to the side. Other patrons exchanged glances, warily wondering if now the product was freely open again.

“If you use it,” Seventh spoke. All eyes in the room turned to him.

“You can’t stop until it cums.”

From the floor, eyes never rose higher than wet boots. 

He never saw the almost-smile there on the seventh’s face.

Their game was hardly over, no matter what it seemed like

The round of edging was finished, sure.

But the new fun of testing overstimulation on the broken mess was only now beginning.


End file.
